More glass had penetrated his blankets and sheets. There were holes in his back, his arm and shoulder. All bled, but none seemed to have hit any arteries, gushing or releasing copious amounts of blood.
That’s good.
It seems Danny’s status right now boils down to lots of smaller injuries that add together to look worse than they are.
It was still far more blood loss than I would have liked – his undershirt was turning crimson.
But yeah, many small streams make a big river.* You generally don’t want a river of blood flowing out of you, whether it’s from one big hole or many small ones.
I climbed over him, glass stabbing my palm as I put a hand on the ground for balance. I wanted a closer look at his back. Had anything hit his spine? Fuck. There was one hole close to the spine, around the same distance down as his belly button.
Uh oh.
Danny, can you move your legs? Your toes?
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